


counting my cards down to one

by likewinning



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Amnesia, Community: trope_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4703255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likewinning/pseuds/likewinning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Bruce," he says. "What else am I gonna do? Crawl back into my grave? I kinda fucked up the roof there."</p>
            </blockquote>





	counting my cards down to one

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the amnesia square of trope bingo, and then everything sort of exploded. Title from Sufjan Stevens. Thanks to my faaaaaavoritest of all ohmcgee for listening to me babble about this.

"Who are you?" Jason asks. He's still in the clothes he was buried in, a suit and tie like the ones he complained about any time he had to wear them. There's dirt under his fingernails, dirt all over his clothing and in his hair. He came right up to the front door like this, half collapsed against the thick wood, and Bruce thought he'd finally lost his mind.

It's been three weeks since he lost Jason, three weeks of chasing after the Joker, of finishing every night with painkillers and far too much silence.

And now –

"I'm," Bruce says. "Jason, I – what's the last thing you remember?"

Jason stares at him. He drains the cup of water Bruce gave him, looks down at his clothes, back up at Bruce. "I don't," Jason says. "I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't know how I –"

He takes huge, heaving breaths that make Bruce's chest hurt in sympathy. He's afraid to touch Jason, afraid to do anything to wake himself up if this is a dream, but when Jason looks at him, panicked like Bruce hasn't seen in years, Bruce reaches for him, wraps his arm around Jason's shoulder and says, "It's all right. We don't have to talk about that."

Jason doesn't speak again until he steadies his breathing. "This isn't – I didn't grow up here, so you can't be my…"

 _You're mine_ , Bruce remembers telling Jason once, not so long ago at all, under such different circumstances. If he looked, he could maybe see the bruises he left on Jason's skin.

"I took you in," Bruce says. "Your parents –"

"They're dead, yeah," Jason says. He nods, pulls at his tie until it's loose enough to slip over his head. "I remember that part."

"You didn't have anywhere else to go," Bruce says. "I – I brought you here." _You were happy, weren't you?_

"So you took me into your rich boy palace," Jason says, and when Bruce flinches he says, "Yeah, I know you now. Saw your face in the papers a couple times. Never figured you for some kinda savior for delinquents."

"Jason, you're not –"

Jason clears his throat, stands up and then looks back at Bruce. "If I'm really from here, tell me there's a change of clothes around. I look like I'm going to a fuckin' funeral."

Bruce almost laughs, but he shudders instead, stands up and leads Jason to his bedroom, shows him how to work the shower and tells him to call if he needs anything.

Once he hears the water run, he collapses onto Jason's bed for a minute, dry sobs wracking his chest until he hears Jason singing _Material Girl_ in the shower. He wipes his hand over his face, stands up and goes to fix Jason something to eat.

 

*

 

During dinner, Bruce keeps expecting Jason to ask him questions, but he doesn't, really. He asks how long he's lived here, where he goes to school ("Oh, god," Jason says, "Do I wear a _uniform_?"), if they get along. Bruce doesn't tell him about the last few months, doesn't tell Jason about when he ran away, can't think about Jason leaving, dying -

"You know," Jason comments, "you're kind of a terrible cook."

Bruce laughs. He laughs so hard his chest hurts with it, and when he remembers how long it's been since Jason made him laugh -

"It really isn't that funny," Jason says. "You're supposed to cook the pasta before you put it on the plate, Bruce."

"Mm," Bruce says. "Well, fortunately you won't have to put up with my cooking much longer. Alfred usually does that for us, and when he's gone you used to take over. That is -" Bruce clears his throat. "That is, if you're staying."

Jason stares at him like he's the stupidest thing alive. "Bruce," he says. "What else am I gonna do? Crawl back into my grave? I kinda fucked up the roof there."

"That's not funny," Bruce says, but his lips twitch with a smile.

"It's a little funny," Jason says. "C'mon, it's not every day someone comes back from the dead. Which by the way -" Bruce takes a breath, gets ready for Jason to ask for the _how_ , the _why_ , as though Bruce even knows those answers, but instead - "For a gazillionaire who supposedly has mush for brains, you're pretty calm about all of this."

"Yes," Bruce says. "Well." He starts to take their plates to the kitchen, but Jason puts his hand over his to stop him. "I'll do it," he says. "I don't mind."

Bruce follows him to the kitchen anyhow, wipes off the counters while Jason handles the dishes. They're quiet while they work, and by the time they're done the sun has set and Bruce - Bruce should be going soon, but.

He can't leave Jason. Not yet. There's no telling how long this memory loss will last, and if everything were to come back to him while Bruce is gone -

"See," Jason says, stepping in front of Bruce. He barely comes up to Bruce's shoulder, but he still has a way of getting right in Bruce's face, making Bruce look at him. " _Now_ you seem like you're freaking out a little. Don't worry," he says. "If you've got big plans or whatever tonight, don't let me stop y -"

Bruce grabs him, pulls him into the kind of hug he wanted to give Jason hours ago. He breathes in the same shampoo Jason's used for years, breathes in soap and sweat and marinara sauce. "Woah," Jason says, and Bruce lets him go, but he keeps his hands on Jason's shoulders. "I'm sorry," Bruce says. "That - you barely know me, I just. When you died -"

_I couldn't sleep, food never tasted right, everything was colorless and -_

"It's just - I'm glad you're back," Bruce finishes. "I - I hope you decide to stay."

Jason stares him down, like he might really be _deciding_ , and then he smirks and asks, "You've got cable, right?"

 

*

 

In the morning, Jason's room is empty, and Bruce panics, feels cold sweat run down his spine. He half-flies down the stairs and only calms down when he hears voices coming from the kitchen.

"Oh," Bruce says when he gets there. Jason's sitting on a kitchen stool, talking quietly while Alfred prepares French toast. They both look over at Bruce – no shirt, just boxers and a dressing gown, hair six kinds of disheveled – and Jason says, "Geez, Bruce. You could've called Alf and told him I was back among the living. I nearly had to give him CPR."

"I'm," Bruce says. He stops staring at Jason and meets Alfred's eyes. His expression is unreadable; if he was shaken by all of this before, he isn't now, or at least he's had time to get past it. "I'm sorry. I –"

_Didn't want to jinx anything, didn't want to wake up and find none of this was real -_

"That's quite all right," Alfred says. He sets a plate down on the counter for Bruce, another for Jason, then waves his spatula at Bruce. "However, a phone call _wouldn't_ have done you any harm."

Bruce mumbles something stupid and vaguely apologetic, and he and Jason sit down to breakfast.

"So," Jason asks. "What's on the agenda today? I assume you had me legally declared dead or whatever, so that gives us free range to rob banks or something, right?"

Alfred's frying pan clatters loudly to the floor. "Are you expecting to run through my millions in the course of an afternoon?" Bruce asks.

Jason snorts. His bottom lip is covered in maple syrup and powdered sugar. Jason always had a sweet tooth; Bruce would find candy wrappers in the Batmobile, popsicle sticks in the cave, Hershey's kisses scattered everywhere no matter how often Alfred cleaned. "Well," Jason says. "Maybe not bank-robbing, then. But I mean, I'm legally dead, you're super rich, we should definitely –"

"I have to go into the office sometime today," Bruce says, and he winces when Jason looks disappointed, as though he's known Bruce for longer than fifteen hours. "You're welcome to come," he adds. "Although you never enjoyed it very much before."

Which isn't strictly true. Jason _thoroughly_ enjoyed trying to get Bruce arrested for public indecency, but he always seemed quite aggravated when Bruce told him he actually had to _work._

("Please," Jason told him. "Everyone knows Brucie Wayne doesn't _work_. It's way more in character if you let me blow you under the desk.")

"Bruce?" Jason asks. "Are you listening? I said I'd go."

"Oh," Bruce says. "Good." He clears his throat, adds, "We should see my friend Dr. Thompkins afterward. I'd like to make sure – I'd just like to make sure everything's normal."

"Hn," Jason says. "I apparently live with a dude who has a gigantic TV and owns exactly three movies. Define normal."

Bruce isn't sure that he can.

*

Leslie all but starts crying when she sees Jason, but when Bruce quickly tells her that Jason doesn't remember _anything_ about the past few years, Leslie wipes quickly at her eyes, nods, and gets on with the examination.

"Everything's normal, physically," she tells them later. "Except for the memory loss. And, of course, that you're alive when you shouldn't be."

"There's a kicker," Jason says.

"Right," Leslie says. "For all intents and purposes you're in good shape, Jason. I don't know what forces or powers you choose to believe in, but – you're very lucky."

"Uh-huh," Jason says. "Thanks, doc." He hops off the table, asks, "So do I get a lollipop or what?"

Leslie shoots Bruce a look that he takes to mean _same old Jason_ , then opens her cabinet and hands Jason the jar of suckers. "Have a few, kid. Welcome back."

They start to leave, but Leslie says, "Bruce? Can I talk to you alone for a minute?" Jason looks at him curiously, but Bruce nods so Jason shrugs and says, "I'll be out there."

"I'm sorry," Bruce tells Leslie once they're alone. "I know this must have been shocking, but –"

Leslie waves her hand dismissively. "It's not that. Don't apologize for the boy being alive again. Just, Bruce –" her eyes get wide and wet like when she first saw Jason today, and she touches Bruce's arm and says, "Bruce, please give him a chance to be – someone else this time. You owe him that."

Bruce doesn't argue with her, doesn't tell her that Jason _chose_ Robin; that he pleaded for the job. "He's a smart boy," Bruce says. "Eventually, he'll figure it out."

"Maybe," Leslie says. "But I hope you're wrong."

When Bruce leaves Leslie's office, he finds Jason in the waiting room, helping a kid fill out a _Highlights_ book. "Gotta go," Jason tells the kid once he sees Bruce. "My boss is here," he says, and Bruce startles for a second before he remembers Jason doesn't know, that Jason just – talks like that.

The kid waves goodbye to Jason, holding one of the suckers Jason snagged from Leslie's office. Jason pops another one in his mouth and as they walk back down to the car he says, "Well, I'm not a zombie, a ghost, or an evil spirit. That's cool, I guess."

"Yes," Bruce agrees. He's still thinking about what Leslie said. He had no intention of telling Jason about Batman, but the fact remains that Bruce disappears every night, that he has mysterious scars and bruises, that there is a cave beneath their home.

"You okay?" Jason asks. His mouth is stained green from the sucker, and he digs another one out of his pocket and holds it up to Bruce. "You want one?"

"No," Bruce says. "Thank you, that's all right."

Jason shrugs, leans forward to fuss with the radio station until he finds something he likes. Bruce doesn't even grumble when Jason turns _Holiday_ all the way up. They drive home with the sun beaming through the windows.

 

*

 

That night, Batman stays in again. He knows he can't keep this up, that sooner or later the city will need him more than Jason does, but when Jason asks what he's doing tonight, Bruce tells him, "Anything you want." They end up at the movies, where he lets Jason load up on popcorn and candy and soda. The movie's a comedy, and Jason laughs too loud at all the jokes, looks over at Bruce a couple of times and his eyes are all lit up.

"Man," Jason says afterward. "I couldn't tell you the last time I paid to go to the movies. I mean, _obviously_ I couldn't, but, you know. I was kind of a delinquent."

"I remember," Bruce says. "That's how we met." Jason stops walking, and Bruce realizes what that must have sounded like. "Jason, not – you stole the tires off of my car."

"Oh," Jason says. "And then you let me live in your big house with even more valuable things?"

"Yes," Bruce says, laughing. "I trust you, Jason. Come on."

"So," Jason says when they get to the car. "When are you gonna teach me how to drive this thing?"

("When do I get to drive the Batmobile?" Jason asked once.

"Absolutely never," Bruce said. "There's autopilot for a reason.")

"We can talk about it," Bruce says. "Maybe – "

"Once I figure out who I am again, yeah," Jason says.

Bruce glances over at him. "You really – you really don't remember anything?"

Jason's quiet for a long time. Then he rolls down his window, leans his hand out of the car and says, "No."

 

*

 

Bruce wakes up to someone screaming. At first he thinks it's a nightmare, the same one he's had for three weeks, but when he opens his eyes the noise carries on, and Bruce runs down the hall to Jason's room. When he gets there, Jason's thrashing around in bed, the sheets all tangled up around him, and Bruce puts his hands on Jason's shoulders and says his name half a dozen times before Jason wakes up.

"Jason," Bruce says. Jason's staring at him like he's never seen him, breathing fast, eyes wide, his hands gripping the sheets. Bruce turns on the lamp by Jason's bed and says, "Jason. Are you – was it –"

"I," Jason says. He sits up, runs his hands over his face. "I don't know what it was." He shivers, pulls the covers back over himself. "This is crazy, right? This whole thing is crazy."

_What's crazy is that I ever lost you._

"No," Bruce says. He leans back against Jason's nightstand and Jason watches him, waiting for him to finish. "I mean, perhaps coming back from the dead could be construed as crazy, but – that's not a bad kind of crazy."

Jason thinks about that for a second, then smirks. "You must've really missed me, huh?"

 _Unbearably so_. "Oh, you know," Bruce says. "Just a bit. Can I get you anything?"

"Why, you handing out bedtime stories? Nah," Jason says. "I'll be okay, Bruce. Go back to bed."

Bruce nods and turns to go, but then Jason says, "Bruce," and reaches out, wraps his fingers around Bruce's wrist, and Bruce startles more than he should. "I'm sorry I woke you up," Jason says.

"That's all right," Bruce says, and Jason nods, but he doesn't let him go quite yet. "Although it did give me a chance to see you without the suit on," Jason says. "For a rich boy, you sure work out. Can't you just pay someone to draw those abs on you? I mean, _damn_."

"Watch your mouth," Bruce says, more reflex than anything.

"Can't," Jason says. "It's always running."

Bruce laughs. "Just get back to bed, Jason. Tomorrow we'll see about getting you back into school."

"Oh boy," Jason says. "Can't wait."

 

*

 

Batman goes out the next night. There's no avoiding it. Bruce feeds Jason some lie, asks him a hundred times if he'll be all right on his own until Jason gets impatient and says, "Look, I promise not to start any fires or make off with the silver, okay?"

"I'm sure Alfred and I would both appreciate that," Bruce says.

Even still, he tries not to stay out for too long, but after two muggings, a robbery, and a run-in with Ivy, it's three in the morning before Bruce gets home, another twenty before Alfred's done patching him up and he can go upstairs.

He goes to check on Jason but again he's not in his room, and the panic rises in Bruce's chest again until he reaches his own bedroom and finds Jason there, curled up at the foot of his bed.

His chest aches.

Before, this is what Jason would do. After patrol, when Bruce had already said good night, Jason would tiptoe down the hall and to his bedroom, crawl between the sheets spouting some nonsense about nightmares until Bruce gave in, until he took Jason in his arms, let Jason kiss him all sloppy and happy and eager.

But now –

Bruce doesn't want to wake Jason, not for the world, but he knows it will be worse if he doesn't. He squeezes Jason's shoulder gently, and Jason's eyes flutter open.

"Sorry," Jason says. He yawns, stretches, but doesn't actually get up. "I woke up a little while ago and I figured I'd see if you were home yet, and then you _weren't_ and I saw how much more _comfortable_ your bed looks…"

"So you decided you'd try it out yourself?" Bruce teases.

"Uh-huh," Jason says, nodding.

"Were you not sleeping well again?" Bruce asks. Jason makes a face. His hands grip the sheets and he swallows a couple of times before he says, "I think – I think I keep seeing it. How I died. Only I don't remember it once I wake up, but it was – it was awful, wasn't it, Bruce?"

Bruce sits on the edge of the bed and Jason's feet bump his leg. He lets out a breath, then says, "It was terrible, Jason. I… I'll never forgive myself."

Jason watches him for a while, and then he sits up, pokes Bruce's shoulder. "I don't know if you should go that far," Jason says. "I mean, I'm back, right? I must just be too good for the world to kill me."

It comes out more like a sob when Bruce laughs, and Jason must catch it, because he rests his hand on Bruce's shoulder, like Bruce has any right for Jason to comfort _him._

"Bruce," Jason says, "you're hurt." And Bruce doesn't know what Jason means until Jason runs his fingers over Bruce's side, where one of Ivy's plants knocked him to the concrete.

"I'm –" Bruce starts, but then Jason's touching all the other scrapes and scars, the ones on his chest and shoulders, the ones along his back. "Jesus," Jason breathes out. "Who _are_ you?"

The thing of it is, Bruce doesn't know how to lie to him. He doesn't know how to do anything but watch as Jason relearns every one of his scars, no light but the moon coming in through the windows to guide them. Jason falls back to sleep like that, his head on Bruce's shoulder as he traces knife wounds, bullet wounds, poisonous thorns and cat claws. Bruce scoops him up and carries him to bed, trying not to think about the last time he held Jason like this.

 

*

 

Jason's the first one up the next morning, and he wakes Bruce up with a plate full of pancakes and sausage, a glass of orange juice in his other hand. "I gave Alfred the morning off," Jason explains. "He didn't seem too crazy about giving up the kitchen, but I promised him I'd drag you in later to help clean up."

"That was very thoughtful of you," Bruce says. He sits up in bed to eat his breakfast, balancing his plate on the tray Jason brought with him. "Aren't you eating?" Bruce asks, and Jason shakes his head. "I'm okay," he says, but Bruce pats the spot next to him and says, "Sit. If Alfred finds out I didn't let you eat I'll never hear the end of it."

Jason hesitates, but then he climbs over Bruce's legs and onto the bed, snatches a piece of bacon off Bruce's plate and takes a bite. "I thought today we'd go school shopping," Bruce says. "The semester starts in a month and it's always better to beat the rush."

Jason makes a face around a bite of pancake. "Isn't it going to be kind of weird? I mean, I'm supposed to be dead, right?"

Bruce clears his throat. "Well, the thing is after – everything, I never actually reported it to your school, so… Not as strange as it could be, I suppose. This is wonderful, by the way," Bruce adds, indicating his food. "You always were the only one Alfred let near the kitchen."

"Only one?" Jason asks, and it's only then that Bruce realizes how stupid he's been, how selfish. Of course Barbara and Dick would want to know Jason's back, of course, but –

"I just mean," Bruce amends, tells himself it isn't a lie. "Between the two of us. I'm a terror with anything more complicated than a bowl of cereal."

Jason snorts. "Well, anyway. If you want to go get my pencils and books or whatever today, I guess that's fine, but let's do something _fun_ after, okay?"

"What did you have in mind?" Bruce asks.

"Oh," Jason says, grinning. "I'll think of something." Before Bruce can think to stop him, Jason leans over and wipes the maple syrup from the corner of his mouth. He keeps his eyes on Bruce as he licks his thumb, and then his grin widens and he says, "Finish your breakfast. I'll meet you downstairs in a bit."

 

*

 

At the store, Jason's a terror. They're supposed to be shopping for pens and notebooks, but somehow Jason ends up with a new walkman and three new CDs. "I have a lot of catching up to do," Jason explains. "You don't want me to go back to school _ignorant_ , do you, Bruce?" Jason asks, and Bruce just sighs and accepts the fact that Alfred is going to laugh at him later.

Afterward, they drop off their bags with Alfred and Jason drags Bruce to Robinson park, where he makes Bruce hand off cash to every half-decent busker they see. "I always wanted to learn an instrument," Jason comments after Bruce drops a twenty into the hat of a green-haired girl plucking out "White Wedding" on an acoustic guitar. "It sure would've made begging for change a whole lot easier."

"Hm," Bruce says. "You never told me that."

"Now," Jason says. He stops on the path, turns and looks up at Bruce. "How would I know that's true, and you're not just going senile on me?"

"Jason," Bruce says, but Jason just throws his head back and laughs, and they chase each other around the park until they're both sweaty and exhausted. They settle underneath the shade of an oak tree, both their jeans stained green from the grass.

"I was just kidding, you know," Jason says. He yawns, scrunches close to Bruce even though there's plenty of room in the shade. "You're not old. I mean, you're –"

"Did you want something to eat?" Bruce interrupts. Jason's skin is warm against his and it's too much, the way it always is. "There's a hotdog cart over there if you're hungry."

"Mm," Jason says. "I could go for a chili dog if you're buying."

"Of course," Bruce says. "I'll be right back." He walks down the path to the hotdog cart and pays for two chili dogs with the works, but when he gets back Jason's gone again – or Bruce thinks so, until he hears a rustle in the leaves above him and then Jason swings down so he's hanging from a branch by his legs.

"Boo," Jason says, grinning wide-eyed and pink-cheeked. "I sure don't remember being able to do _this_ ," he says.

"Jason," Bruce says. "Please come down from there."

Jason stares at him, but says, "Sure thing, boss," and then swings himself around, hops back to the ground with a flip it took him ages to learn.

They sit back down, and Jason chatters on about the books he's been reading, the ones he pulled off the shelf in his room. "You still aren't sleeping much, are you?" Bruce asks, and Jason shakes his head. "Maybe it's 'cause I was dead and all. I figure that's enough sleep for anyone."

But there's something else in his voice, and Bruce knows that it's to do with what happens when Jason _does_ sleep – the shuddering, awful nightmares that come on, the ones Jason claims not to remember.

"Well, when you run out of the ones in your room, there's still a whole library to explore," Bruce offers. "And anything you might want –"

"Ha," Jason says around a mouthful of food. "I _knew_ you were lying when you said you didn't want to spoil me. I've got a birthday coming up, y'know."

"Yes," Bruce says. "I know."

Just a few days ago, he thought of the occasion with dread, but now – now Jason is with him again, even if he doesn't remember ever having been so before. Bruce has so much to look forward to now. He doesn't know why that all still fills him with dread.

 

*

 

After a few days, Bruce gets used to finding Jason still awake or crashed out on Bruce's bed because it's the only place he _can_ seem to get to sleep. But when Bruce gets home one night after seeing Two-Face back to Arkham, Jason isn't in any of his usual places: not reading in the library, watching TV in the living room, not cooking up some late-night snack for him and Bruce to share.

Bruce walks every floor, checks every room, but it isn't until he walks the grounds that he finds Jason, knelt down in front of his own tombstone. The grass is wet from when it rained earlier and Jason's bare feet are covered with mud, his hair soaked straight through. He must have been out here for hours.

He sits down next to Jason and after a minute Jason turns to look at him, eyes wide and blue and wet. For the longest time, Jason doesn't say a word, just curls up against Bruce and pulls at the loose threads at the bottom of Bruce's t-shirt, and then lightning flashes across the sky and Jason asks, "Where were you?"

"I'm sorry," Bruce says. "I had a charity function –"

"Not tonight," Jason says. "When I – Bruce, what did I _do_?" He's shaking, shivering, and Bruce can hardly breathe. He pulls Jason even closer and Jason crawls into his lap, wraps his arms around Bruce's neck. Bruce runs his fingers through Jason's hair until Jason's breathing evens out.

"You didn't do anything wrong," Bruce says. "You didn't – Jason, you were –"

 _My world_ , Bruce almost says, but then, that implies that that's not still _true_. And it is. Each night that he goes out without Jason there's an absence at his side, but an absence that he tells himself needs to _be_ there because he can't lose Jason again. He _can't_.

"I couldn't save you," Bruce says. Jason squeezes him even tighter, until the shell of his ear is right up close to Bruce's mouth. "I would've done anything to protect you, Jason. Please believe me."

"I know," Jason says. "That's why I feel safe with you. Even if I don't remember everything, some part of me knows you."

In a while, Bruce gets Jason back to his feet and they walk back to the house together, where Alfred's laid out cookies and hot tea on the kitchen table. They have a little of each, and then they both go their separate ways to find a change of clothes, but it's not long before Bruce hears a soft knock on his bedroom door.

"Come in," Bruce says, and Jason steps inside the room. "What is it, Jason?" He knows, but part of him still hopes –

"Bruce," Jason says. "Can I sleep in here?"

"Jason…"

"It doesn't have to be in your bed," Jason says quickly. "I can take the floor, it's just – I sleep better in here. Maybe it's 'cause you snore like a grizzly bear, but –"

("B, it's like a bear lives in here," Jason told him once. "We've got the Batcave _and_ the bear cave. I'd tell you to go to a sleep clinic but it'd sorta get in the way of Batman.")

"Jason," Bruce tries again, but when Jason comes to stand next to him, small and sure and everything Bruce has missed terribly, he knows he has no choice but to relent. "All right," he says. "But one more word about my snoring, and I'm kicking you out."

Jason beams at him. "You got it, chief."

When Jason gets into bed next to him, Bruce half-expects Jason to climb on top of him, nuzzle into him the way Jason used to, tease him until Bruce gives into him, but – Jason just sleeps, not waking up once the rest of the night. Bruce stays awake just to listen to him until the sun rises.

 

*

 

Most nights, Jason sleeps in his bed. It's nothing more than that - Bruce is gone until late, and when he comes back Jason is already curled up on one side of the bed and whatever book he's been reading sits on the nightstand next to him. The first few nights Bruce scoops him up and carries him back to his bed, but then there's the night where Jason wakes up as Bruce is making his way down the hall, tugs at the sleeve of Bruce's shirt and says, "Fucker. Take me back."

He's fallen back asleep by the time they get back to Bruce's room.

Bruce calls Dick on a Sunday afternoon while Jason helps Alfred with lunch. He shuts himself in the study and tells Dick everything - the abridged version, anyway.

"Oh my god," Dick says after a long silence. "Bruce, that's…"

 _Wonderful, insane, unbelievable_ \- Bruce is sure Dick goes through at least half the words he did. "When can I see him?"

Bruce pushes his hand through his hair. If he listens hard enough, he can hear Jason listening to his awful music in the kitchen, can hear Jason singing along to it. "I'm not sure that's a good idea yet," Bruce says. "I - it was hard enough explaining who _I_ am…"

"He really doesn't remember anything?" Dick asks.

"No," Bruce says. "He has nightmares about - it, but… no."

"And he's okay with you?" Dick asks. Bruce tries not to feel hurt at Dick's skepticism, but then, no one really ever understood him and Jason except him and Jason.

"He's -" _wonderful_ "He's just fine," Bruce says.

"Okay," Dick says after another pause. "Well, I still want to see him, when you think he's ready. I've -"

The door opens, and Jason sticks his head in. "Hey, lunch is ready."

"Thank you," Bruce says. "I'll be right there."

"God," Dick says. "Bruce, is that him?"

"Yes," Bruce says, and instead of leaving, Jason plops down on the chair in front of Bruce's desk, kicks his feet up on the desk.

Jason used to do this all the time. Didn't matter if it was an important phone call, if it was one of Bruce's board members or the Commissioner, Jason got impatient waiting for Bruce to pay attention to _him_ again so he'd just make himself at home in Bruce's lap, at his feet, until Bruce got off the phone.

"Who is it?" Jason asks now.

"God, Bruce," Dick says. "He sounds exactly the same. Does he look -"

"Yes," Bruce says, not taking his eyes off Jason for a second. Jason takes his feet off the desk and leans forward, starts rearranging books and stacks of papers and Bruce's coffee mug.

"Well, whoever it is," Jason says, louder, "tell them you're missing your lunch and that's _rude_."

Dick laughs, but Bruce barely hears it when Jason brushes past him to open the blinds. "Wow," Dick says. "Same old Jason, huh?"

"Yes," Bruce agrees. "I'll talk to you soon." He hangs up, and Jason takes a seat on the edge of the desk facing him, swings his feet out. "Who was that?" Jason asks. "One of those _other_ people Alfred wouldn't let in the kitchen?"

Bruce swallows. It won't do him any good to lie to Jason, he knows that. That doesn't make him any less reluctant to tell him. "Yes," Bruce says. "His name is Dick Grayson. He lived here before - before you."

"Huh," Jason says. His bare foot brushes Bruce's pant leg for the briefest of seconds. "Did _he_ try to rob you blind once, too?"

"No, as it happens," Bruce says, laughing. He stands up and starts for the door, and Jason jumps off the desk and follows him. "I met him at the circus."

"Bruce," Jason says. "Did anyone ever tell you you're kind of a freak?"

"It has been noted," Bruce says. "But on the other hand," Bruce teases, "I'm very rich. That counts for something, right?"

"Uh-huh," Jason says. They sit down at the table, and Jason bites into his sandwich. "About that. I was thinking we could get an ice rink."

Bruce raises his eyebrows. "Jason," he says, "have you ever ice skated before?"

Jason shrugs. "No," he says, "but I just wanted to see if I could get you to say yes."

Bruce busies himself with his sandwich. He's not sure, anymore, there's anything he wouldn't say yes to.

 

*

 

Dick shows up at the house three days later, his bike helmet in one hand and a backpack in the other. He looks slightly apologetic until he glances past Bruce and Alfred and sees Jason standing at the bottom of the stairs. Before Bruce can stop him, ask him what the hell he thinks he's doing, Dick drops his helmet in Bruce's hands and barrels the ten feet to Jason, pulls him into a tight hug and says, "It's good to see you, Little Wing."

"Dick," Bruce warns.

"I mean," Dick says. He pulls back, still gripping Jason's shoulders, and Jason looks at him, then Bruce, like he isn't sure what the hell to make of any of this. "It's just - it's good to see you, Jay."

"Everyone keeps saying that," Jason says. "I guess I should die more often, huh?" Dick looks _horrified_ , Bruce chokes, and Alfred clears his throat and says, "Ah, Master Jason has really started to enjoy that little joke."

Jason grins, and when Dick just keeps staring at him like he can't believe he's real - Bruce knows the feeling; he had that constantly, even before Jason died - he raises his eyebrows at Dick and asks, "You gonna tell me who the hell you are, or do I get to draw my own conclusions? I mean, _obviously_ part-time model or something with those cheekbones, but -"

"Just part-time?" Dick teases him.

"Dunno," Jason says. "Let's see the catwalk strut." When Dick hesitates, Jason says, "Come on, I just died, remember?"

"So far he's used that excuse for the last pretzel, eight new CDs, and he's cornering for an ice rink," Bruce says.

"Sounds about right," Dick mutters, but he does a little strut at Jason's insistence, and Jason whistles. "And _that_ ass? Tell me you're a model."

"Jason," Bruce says.

"What, language?" Jason asks. "I haven't even started being vulgar yet."

"And on that note, I'm certain there's some silverware somewhere that needs polishing," Alfred says, and leaves the room.

Dick laughs, and then he says, "I used to live here, Jase. Bruce took care of me after my parents died."

"Oh," Jason says, and for a second Bruce thinks Jason might ask how, but instead he says, "Why'd you ever leave?"

"You know," Dick leans in and tells him, like Bruce isn't supposed to hear, "Sometimes I have no idea."

 

*

 

Dick stays for dinner that night, keeping Jason entertained with stories about the circus (he gets up from the table at one point to start walking on his hands) and growing up with Bruce. Somehow, he manages to avoid the entire subject of vigilantism, for which Bruce is endlessly grateful.

"You know you'll have to tell him eventually," Dick tells him later on, down in the Batcave. They made some lame excuse about going out for a drink, which neither of them have probably done in years and certainly not together. "Or worse, he'll figure it out and then be pissed at you for not telling him."

"I know," Bruce says. "I keep hoping - I keep hoping it will all come back to him, so relearning everything won't be so hard." He pulls his cowl over his head, says, "And sometimes I hope he never remembers any of it."

"Don't do that," Dick says. "He loved being Robin. We both did."

"Yes," Bruce says. "But at what price?"

Dick stares him down. "Bruce," Dick says. "Do you think every night when I went out with you I didn't know there was some chance I wouldn't come back? It wasn't a game to me, Bruce."

"But for Jason -" Bruce starts, and Dick pokes his finger at Bruce's chest, says, "If you think it was a game to Jason, then you don't have any right going out there every night, either."

Bruce doesn't say anything. The ride into Gotham is icy and silent, and they go their separate ways on patrol. Dick leaves as soon as they get back to the Manor, and when Bruce gets back upstairs, he finds Jason asleep in his bed.

"Good time?" Jason asks, turning to look at him.

"Not exactly," Bruce says.

"Hm," Jason says. "Should've taken me with you instead." 

Bruce doesn't say anything. "You don't smell like a bar," Jason says, and then he rolls over and falls back to sleep.

 

*

 

A few nights later, Alfred calls him while he's on patrol. "I'm afraid you're needed down at the police station."

He hasn't seen the bat signal all night, but he says, "All right. I'll be right there. What is it?"

Alfred hesitates, and Bruce feels that tightness in his chest before Alfred says, "It's not Batman who's needed, it's Bruce Wayne. Master Jason is down at the station waiting for you."

"Meet me there," Bruce says. He speeds across town, jumps out of the Batmobile two blocks from the precinct and runs the two blocks in civilian clothes. When he gets to the station, Bruce Wayne is a sweaty mess in a suit, and Jason sits in front of someone's desk, looking as lost as the first night he returned.

He doesn't bother with the pretense of Brucie Wayne, just kneels down on the floor in front of Jason and asks, "Jay, are you all right?"

Jason stares at him. His eyes are glassy and when he brings his hand up to his face, there's blood on his knuckles. Bruce finally acknowledges the police woman sitting at the desk and asks, "What happened?"

"We're not sure," she says. "We found him in an alleyway, kicking the crap out of a couple of thugs. Not a total loss to the world, but…"

"Yes," Bruce says. "I understand." He returns his gaze to Jason, who reaches for his shoulder, plucks at the material of his suit. "Bruce?" he asks. "Can we go home?"

Bruce stands, looks at the officer and she nods. "Just stay out of trouble, kid," she says to Jason. "That's a hell of a right hook you've got."

Bruce thanks her, and they leave the station, Bruce's hand on Jason's back while Jason stares at his hands like he's never seen them before. "Bruce," Jason says. "I didn't - I think maybe I really hurt -"

"Ssh," Bruce says. "It's all right. We'll talk about it when we get home."

The bat signal glows in the sky, now, but once Alfred takes them home, Bruce doesn't go back out. Instead, he and Jason sit on the couch in the living room, and Jason rests his head on Bruce's shoulder and says, "I didn't used to be that strong. I never - they just came up to me, Bruce, and I… I think I blacked out. Is that - has that ever happened to me before?"

"No," Bruce says. Jason looks up at him, worried and frightened and a thousand things Bruce wishes he never had to be again. "How did you get into the city?"

Jason stares at him, a haunted look on his face. "I don't know. Bruce, am I -"

"You're just fine," Bruce says, too quickly. Jason flinches, and Bruce takes Jason's hand in his. There isn't such a disparity in their sizes anymore. "You're all right," Bruce says, and he kisses the top of Jason's forehead. He lingers too long, breathing in the scent of sweat and shampoo, and when Jason looks up at him this time, he licks his lips.

"Bruce -" Jason starts, but Bruce reaches forward, takes the remote control off the coffee table. "Let's put on a movie," he says. "Get your mind off things."

Jason bites down on his lip, squeezes Bruce's hand in his, but he nods and says, "Yeah, okay." He falls asleep with his head on the armrest, his feet in Bruce's lap.

 

*

 

They both sleep late the next day. Jason wakes him up around noon, his face still puffy from sleep, cheeks creased from the lines on the couch. It's bright outside, blazing hot August weather, and while they eat a late breakfast on the patio, Bruce asks Jason what he wants to do today.

"No work?" Jason asks.

"No," Bruce says. He honestly doesn't remember what day it is, or the last time he went near the office, but he doesn't want to leave Jason alone again if he doesn't have to. In a little over a week, Jason starts school. Bruce was less worried the first time, when Jason was coming from a broken household, when he hadn't been in school for god only knew how long.

Now, it's only -

"Well," Jason says. He finishes his orange juice in three big gulps, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He steps over to the pool, dips his big toe in the water. "As long as it's not yardwork, I'm up for whatever."

 

*

 

An hour later, Bruce has Alfred drive them into the city. He instructed Jason to bring a sweater, and Jason spent the better part of a minute looking at him like he'd completely lost his mind. But when Alfred stops in front of a building and Jason looks out the window, Jason turns to Bruce grinning and bewildered.

"Really?" he asks.

"Well," Bruce says, nudging Jason out of the car. "It's not your _own_ , but it's a start."

Jason follows him onto the ice rink, keeping quiet as Bruce rents skates for both of them. He helps Jason lace his, then offers Jason a hand toward the rink. "Fair warning," Jason tells him. "I'm definitely going to fall on my ass."

"Hm," Bruce says. "You might surprise yourself."

Once, Mister Freeze turned the city into a wonderland, every street covered in thick, impenetrable ice for days. Jason swapped out his pixie boots for a pair of skates and he was a natural on the ice, not quite so graceful as Dick on a good day, but something Bruce never would have predicted.

Jason holds onto him for the first turn around the rink, but when Bruce lets him go during the second round, Jason glides off, moving faster and faster until Bruce only just catches up with him. Jason looks back at him and laughs, his ears and nose pink from the cold, his eyes bright and happy and nothing at all like the boy Bruce rescued from the police station last night.

"You were right," Jason tells him later, when they take a break to sit on the benches and drink hot chocolate. Jason licks all of the marshmallows out of his before he takes a sip, and Bruce gets a spoon and adds all of his marshmallows to Jason's cup. 

"About what?" Bruce asks.

"I figured I'd crack my head open," Jason says. "But once I got out there, it was like…" He blows on his hot chocolate to cool it down, shrugs. "The same thing happened last night. I mean I got in fights before, but nothing like… I never knew what I was doing." He looks up at Bruce, and Bruce knows the question is coming this time, that he's gotten away with avoiding it for too long. "Bruce, _why_ did I know what I was doing?"

"Jason…" Bruce starts. "I've been - I want to -" Jason sets his drink down and stands up, his legs perfectly steady in his skates. For just a second, he's taller than Bruce, and he looks down at Bruce and says, "I'll race you around the rink."

He's off before Bruce can even stand, speeding across the ice like he's done this a dozen times. Still, Bruce gets ahead of him for just a few moments, and Jason yells and runs right into him, wraps his arms around Bruce's waist until Bruce has to hold onto the wall to keep them upright.

"B," Jason says an hour or so later, when they walk out of the building and into the blinding afternoon sun. "If we just maybe froze the pool -"

Bruce chuckles, tucks Jason under his arm and says, "You're relentless, aren't you?"

"Uh-huh," Jason says. He grins up at Bruce, pokes him lightly in the ribs. "But I bet you knew that before, huh?"

"Yes," Bruce says. They stop at the bottom of the stairs. Alfred is just a block or so away. Jason steps in front of Bruce, stands on his tiptoes to look him in the eye. His lips are a little chapped from the cold, his cheeks still pink even with the heat beating down on them.

"Jason?" Bruce asks, and Jason licks his lips, puts both hands on Bruce's shoulders and says, "Jay. Last night, that's what you called me."

"Yes," Bruce agrees. He doesn't move, couldn't if he wanted to. They're out in broad daylight where anyone can see, and Bruce knows what's going to happen long before it actually does. "Jay, we -"

Jason's lips still feel a little cold, but his body is warm when he presses his chest against Bruce's, and his hands cling to Bruce's shoulders like a lifeline even when Bruce tries to pull away. He promised himself, promised the Jason who died in Ethiopia, that there would be no more Robin and no more of _this_ -

"Jason," Bruce says. He can't stop looking at Jason, can't help how badly he wants to grab Jason and pull him up, get Jason's arms around his waist like he used to, not so long ago at all. "We can't - that's not -"

"I know," Jason says. He takes his hands off Bruce's shoulders, gives him the smallest bit of space. "But we have before, huh? If not, you would've just sent me flying for something like that."

"Yes," Bruce says. The first time they kissed, it was Bruce's fault. It started with a kiss to Jason's forehead, chaste and uncomplicated, and then both of Jason's cheeks, until Jason tilted his head up and let Bruce taste his mouth, let him lick the taste of candy from his tongue. "We have. Jason, I should've - I thought as long as I didn't tell you -"

"That's okay," Jason says. He starts back toward the car and doesn't say a word about it during the drive back, not even when Alfred asks if they had a nice time. He doesn't say anything until Bruce is dressing for the night, his pretense of suit and tie firmly in place for a date he has no intention of going on. Batman is needed tonight, and perhaps more than that, _Bruce_ needs to be Batman tonight.

But Jason finds him standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom, straightening his tie and fixing his cufflinks. "You know," Jason says. "If there's anything else you didn't tell me, you can still do it. I won't be mad."

Bruce takes a breath. Jason is a lot of things, but forgiving is often not one of them. He remembers the arguments they used to have about Jason's methods, about Jason going out at all. "I'm," Bruce says. He looks at Jason from the mirror, finishes, "I'm sorry if you feel as though I lied to you. That wasn't my intention."

"Not lied," Jason says. He sits on the bed, kicks out his legs. His hands, Bruce sees, are covered in ink. He's been doing work in his school books from last semester, and considering what he's lost he seems to be doing well. "More like you held out on me."

"Jason…" Bruce says. He turns from the mirror, starts toward Bruce, and Jason encircles Bruce's legs with his. Bruce can see that he's hard, sees Jason's dick tenting the thin cloth of his pajama pants. "Jay," Bruce tries. He runs his hand through Jason's hair, cups his cheek. Jason looks up at him the way he used to, like he utterly adores him. "I need you to sleep in your bed from now on, all right?"

Jason flinches as though that wasn't what he expected Bruce to say at all. He lets go of Bruce's legs, rolls off the bed and stands up, scowling. "Sure, Bruce," Jason says, not even looking back at Bruce as he heads for the doorway. "Have fun, I guess."

Bruce thinks about tearing the suit back off, dragging Jason away from the door and pulling him downstairs and into the Batmobile, then back _here_ and stripping off all of Jason's clothes. His breathing quickens with the thought, but he doesn't act. He watches Jason go, and listens for the slam of Jason's door.

 

*

 

Catwoman steals a piece from the museum that night, some famous portrait of a cat that's so hideous Bruce considers just letting her keep it. But the routine helps clear his head; chasing Selina across rooftops, listening to her taunts, catching the painting but not Catwoman - there's something so _easy_ about it.

"I heard the rumors about Robin," she says at one point, when Bruce has her pinned to the wall, fingers wrapped around her wrist. "Are they true?" she asks, and for a second she isn't Catwoman but Selina Kyle, a woman Bruce has seen jump in front of a car to save a pigeon from being run over.

"No," Bruce says. "He's fine."

"Grounded, then?" Selina asks, and the smirk comes back as she wriggles her way out of his grip. "Shame," she says. "I always liked those little pixie boots."

It's four in the morning by the time Bruce gets home, and Alfred reports that Jason didn't come down for dinner, that he locked himself away in the library and fell asleep in one of the chairs.

"I do believe your absence is felt quite heavily by the boy," Alfred tells him, and Bruce holds himself back from saying _I know the feeling._

He finds Jason in the library, curled up in an armchair with _Persuasion_ propped open on his lap. Jason wakes up when Bruce picks up the book, looks up at him through heavy lids and offers a sleepy smile.

"I'm not really mad at you, y'know," Jason says, shifting until he's in a sitting position.

"No?" Bruce asks.

"Nah," Jason says. "I sulked around for like, a few hours and then I thought about how much worse off I was before I got here, even if I don't remember it, and -"

 _But you might never have died_ , Bruce wants to say, and Jason must catch some of that in his expression, because he looks up at Bruce and says, "You're good for me. I can tell. And if you ever change your mind…" Jason licks his lips, spreads his legs just a little, and Bruce shivers, feels his dick getting hard through the sweatpants he put on before he came upstairs.

"Jason," Bruce says, and Jason says, "Yeah, I know. It's never gonna happen. Only, the thing is?" Jason asks. "I bet you said that before, too."

"Yes," Bruce says, his voice hoarse with the word. "Every time."

"Uh-huh," Jason says. "That's what I thought." He yawns, stretches his arms above his head and then looks Bruce over. "Did you have fun?" he asks, and Bruce shakes his head.

"Not particularly," he says. "I missed you," he says, and even if it's not for the reason Jason thinks, it's still true.

"Yeah?" Jason asks, grinning. "So _invite_ me next time. I'll protect you from all the society ladies who apparently keep beating you up." Bruce flinches, and for just a second he thinks that Jason knows everything, that he's playing with him, but then Jason laughs and says, "Or, you know. Whatever's happening there."

"Tell you what," Bruce says. He offers Jason a hand up, and they start back upstairs. "Tomorrow I'll take a night off from… getting beat up by society ladies, and we'll take in a show. You used to like the theater."

"Okay," Jason says. They stop at Bruce's bedroom first, but when Bruce starts to say goodnight, Jason's eyes widen and he only seems to be half-kidding when he asks, "Aren't you going to at least tuck me in?"

So he follows Jason a little ways down the hall to his bedroom, and Jason kicks a couple of books off his bed before he gets under the covers. All at once, Bruce feels himself backtracking. "You'll be all right, won't you?" Bruce asks him, and Jason fixes him with a look. "You know," he says. "I _did_ grow up on the bad side of town."

Bruce laughs. "You know what I mean," he says. "I hope I wasn't… too harsh with you."

"Nah," Jason says, settling back against his pillows. "You're like a teddy bear. A teddy bear covered in mysterious bruises." He yawns again, says, "I've got a few theories about that, y'know."

"I'm sure you do," Bruce says. "Good night, Jason." He leans forward and kisses Jason on the forehead, and Jason grabs him with both hands, cups his face and stares at him wide-eyed. "Bruce," he says, just the way that he used to. "Just this once, okay?"

"Yes," Bruce says, and just the way that he used to, Bruce gives in. He kisses Jason's mouth, a thousand memories returning to him as he does, kisses on rooftops and behind closed doors at parties, kisses in the library and his bedroom and the Batmobile, kisses right where they are now. When he pulls back, Jason's eyes are wide open, and Bruce thinks they may have been that way the whole time.

 

*

 

Les Mis has been sold out for weeks, but being Bruce Wayne has its advantages sometimes. They get a box to themselves, and even though Jason looks hesitant at first - he hates the suit that he has on, keeps yanking at his tie like it's choking him - by the time the music starts he's leaning all the way forward on the balcony, so far Bruce is tempted to tell him to be _careful_.

Once, they had to change into Batman and Robin in the middle of the last act of a play here. It was maybe the only time Jason was ever reluctant to be Robin. Jason hit a little harder that night, but then, he'd been hitting a little harder for a while.

By intermission, Jason's face is flushed pink, eyes wide with excitement. He snakes a glass of champagne from somewhere but Bruce lets him get away with it, doesn't protest when Jason leans against his arm and talks non-stop about the show.

"I remember this," Jason tells him. "I remember what happens."

"That's good," Bruce tells him, even though his palms start to sweat. He oscillates constantly between wanting Jason to remember everything, and nothing.

They're the the last ones to leave after Bruce takes him to meet the cast. Jason holds his playbill tightly in one hand, Bruce’s arm in the other.

Everything falls apart just before they reach the car. One moment they're talking, and the next moment there's horrible laughter, and someone grabbing Jason's arm.

"I could just swear I've seen you somewhere before," says the voice, and Bruce hasn't seen him since just after Jason died, since Clark had to stop Bruce from just murdering him, since -

"Bruce," Jason says, and Jason's voice is the smallest Bruce has heard it since he first came back. "Bruce, what's -"

"Ah, Brucie Wayne!" the Joker says, and Bruce can't move, can't think, can't do anything until Alfred is there beside him, between them, hitting the Joker with 50,000 volts of a taser and saying, "Sirs. The police are on their way. Let's go, shall we?"

"Bruce?" Jason asks again, and Bruce finally moves, lets Jason tug him toward the car, blinking past the Joker's prone form.

In the car, Bruce is shaking worse than Jason. Alfred asks Jason about the show, and Jason chatters on the way he did with Bruce, though he keeps looking over at Bruce to check if he's okay.

When Alfred runs out of questions, Jason settles back next to Bruce, bumps Bruce's arm with his shoulder. "You okay?" he asks, and Bruce barks out a laugh. "I should be asking you that, Jason," he says. "I promise you, normally when we go out, we don't run into the Joker on the way home."

_At least not in civilian clothes._

"I figured," Jason says. He swallows, touches Bruce's hand. "B…"

"Yes?" Bruce asks, but Jason changes his mind, shakes his head. "Nevermind," Jason says. He sets his head on Bruce's shoulder, and he's warm and smells like the cologne he stole off of Bruce's bureau while he was getting ready. "I still had a good time. Thanks."

"You're welcome," Bruce says. He pushes Jason's hair back from his forehead and meets Alfred's eyes in the mirror. Alfred looks the way he feels, ill but trying to hold everything together. In all his life, he's never been more thankful for Alfred than he is tonight.

"And," Jason adds, poking Bruce in the side, "you didn't even get beat up tonight."

"Yes," Bruce says, chuckling softly. "That's because I had you there to protect me."

"Damn straight," Jason says.

 

*

 

Even though the police took the Joker into custody, once Jason is asleep Batman still goes out that night, scouring the streets for any trace of the Joker. His heart beats too quickly the whole time, unsure what he'll do if he finds the Joker.

Once, it was a game - a stupid, dangerous one, but still a game. Now, Bruce is less and less sure that the next time he sees the Joker, it won't be the last.

It's a quiet night, nothing worse than a couple of muggings on the east side, and when Bruce gets home he checks in with Jason. He expects - hopes - to find him still asleep, but he's sitting up in bed, propped against some pillows with his bedside lamp on so he can read. He sets down his book when he comes in.

"I couldn't sleep," Jason says. "I came to talk to you, and you -" his voice cracks, and Bruce is immediately beside him, knocking books and pillows aside as he takes Jason in his arms. "Bruce," Jason says, his breath coming out in shaky gasps. "He killed me, didn't he?"

Bruce wants to tell him no, wants to tell him anything but the truth, but a boy who died for him deserves anything Bruce can give him and more. "Yes," Bruce says. "Jason, I should've -"

He lets Jason pound his fists against his chest, lets him scream and sob into his skin until he exhausts himself. "You should've killed him," Jason says finally, when he catches his breath. "Bruce, you should've - if it had been you, I would've done it."

"I know," Bruce says. "I thought I would tonight, if I -" He swallows, says, "Jason, if I had, I might never have seen you again. I've already lost you once."

"Maybe," Jason says. He looks up at Bruce, his eyes the blankest Bruce has ever seen them. "But you would've been doing the world a favor."

He holds Jason - Jason lets him hold him - until the sun comes up and they hear Alfred moving around downstairs. Jason stays curled up in his lap while Bruce tells him everything - about Batman, about Robin, about how he and Jason met. When he tells Jason about his mother, Jason digs his nails into Bruce's side, and when Bruce tells him about the end, for a minute Jason stops breathing altogether.

"Jason," Bruce says. Jason’s eyes are bloodshot, his knuckles bruised from Bruce's chest. "Should I have told you right away?" _Should I never have told you?_

"I don’t know," Jason says. He crawls out of Bruce's lap, reaches over to turn out the light. Then he turns back to Bruce, asks, "Will you stay here? I don’t know if I'm mad at you or not, but you're all I've got and I don’t wanna be alone."

"Yes," Bruce says. "Of course."

They curl up together in Jason's tiny bed, and it's ages before Jason falls asleep, before either of them do. They sleep most of the afternoon.

 

*

 

That evening, Bruce takes Jason down into the Batcave. Jason starts school in two days. Alfred makes himself scarce, tells Bruce to call if he needs anything but looks at Jason when he says it. Bruce doesn't know if it's the right thing to have Jason down here; he's not sure if he's ever known the right thing at all where Jason is concerned, but he deserves to know who he's been, what he's done.

"Jesus," Jason breathes out. He cranes his head up toward the dinosaur, the one he lept onto once when he was throwing some kind of tantrum. Then he steps away, moves toward the case where Bruce put his suit. "That's me, huh," Jason says, his voice so flat Bruce can barely hear him.

"No," Bruce says. He reaches for Jason's shoulder, then thinks better of it and lets his hand drop to his side. "It's not. You're right here."

Somehow, that's worse. Jason turns back to look at him, his eyes bright and furious. "What if I'm not supposed to be though, huh? What if I was supposed to stay dead, and…" he falters, and Bruce can't look at him, can't look away. There's no part of him, whatever the consequences, that can regret that Jason's back.

"Come here," Bruce says. He brings Jason to the computer, and he shows Jason article after article featuring Batman and Robin during their time together, all the people that they've saved, the things that they've done. Jason stands stiffly beside him.

"This isn't everything," Bruce says when he reaches the end. He turns in his chair to look at Jason. "This is only - this is only what everyone knows about, Jason. And no one but you and I know what we had, what…"

"And you almost didn't tell me," Jason says, and at first Bruce thinks he means about _Robin_ , but then Jason drops to his knees, trembling again, and looks up at him through wet eyes. "You tried to erase everything."

"Jason," Bruce says. This time he does reach for him, and Jason lets him; he's crying too hard to do anything but dig his fingers into Bruce's knees. "Jay, no. I wanted - Jay, when he killed you -" He slides off the chair, down to the floor in front of Jason, and as Jason soaks his shirt straight through with his tears, Bruce tries to find anything to say that could make this right.

It was never going to be right.

He holds Jason to him, combs his hand through Jason's hair and says, "Listen. I don't know what I believe in. Most of the time I don't think I believe in anything at all. But Jason, when you were taken away - when you _died_ \- _that_ was never supposed to happen. I know that. I know that you're supposed to be right here."

"Bruce," Jason says. He blinks up at Bruce, his face pink from crying. "Was I bad? Is that why -"

" _No_ ," Bruce says, and it comes out more Batman than Bruce Wayne, so he cups Jason's face in both hands, tips his forehead down to Jason's and promises, "It's my fault. I never should've left you alone. If I'm honest, I don't really ever want to do that."

"Hm," Jason says, and Bruce hears the mischief return to Jason's voice all at once before Jason's right _there_ , kissing Bruce's cheeks, his eyelids, the stubble on his jaw, before Bruce tilts his head up and lets Jason kiss him right on the mouth. Jason's mouth is still wet but when he tackles Bruce to the ground he's laughing, shaking, holding onto every part of Bruce that he can get.

"Of course," Jason says, when he stops kissing Bruce long enough to catch his breath. "You'll have to homeschool me. I might be dead but I'm not a _delinquent._ "

"No?" Bruce asks, quirking an eyebrow. "If I remember correctly -" Jason pinches him. "I've seen the little schoolboy outfit they make me wear there, B. That's _totally_ the only reason you're making me go."

" _Jason_ ," Bruce says, appalled.

"Not to _mention_ that Robin outfit. _Bruce._ "

"I," Bruce stammers. "I offered many times to have Alfred -"

Jason cuts him off, laughing, and then he's kissing Bruce again, wet and sloppy and eager and everything Bruce has been missing for weeks. A little while later, Jason rests his head on Bruce's chest and asks, "Do you have to go get beat up by old society ladies again tonight?"

"You know, that's not really what I _do_."

"I know," Jason says. "But I just like picturing it. Grandmas with big handbags and canes terrorizing the streets. Way more fun than the weirdos you actually deal with."

"Fair point," Bruce says. He plays with the curls at the back of Jason's neck, says, "No, I don't. Not if you had other ideas."

"Uh-huh," Jason says. He shifts, rests his chin on Bruce's chest and grins at him. "Star Wars. And _then_ you're taking me to your bed and we're not leaving until I say so."

Bruce shivers, and Jason's eyes darken when Bruce runs his thumb over his bottom lip. "Our bed," Bruce corrects, and Jason swirls his tongue over Bruce's thumb, says, "Yeah. Exactly."


End file.
